


Here's the Baby, Make it Work

by alwayslily22, Des98



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Angst and Fluff and Feels, Cuddles, Dealing with the effects of the dursleys, Drarry, EWE, F/F, F/M, Harry and Draco co-parenting, Harry is the best damn godfather ever, Harry raises Teddy, M/M, Nightmares, PTSD, Past history of abuse mentioned, Post-War, Rating subject to change, Rolls eyes, actually dealing with the effects of a war instead of being straight and fine, anyway thanks for coming to my tag talk enjoy the story, dead sirius, it's hard to make funny tags for such a serious story, oh gods i'm sorry, oh my!, yeah thanks jk rowling...., you might say it's....
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-09-03
Updated: 2018-09-09
Packaged: 2019-07-06 15:50:50
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 3
Words: 9,047
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15889170
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/alwayslily22/pseuds/alwayslily22, https://archiveofourown.org/users/Des98/pseuds/Des98
Summary: The other day I put a prompt on my tumblr (@younggayanddoingokay) talking about what might have happened if Harry had insisted on raising Teddy from the get-go instead of going back to school with his friends, and a lot of people wanted to see it turned into a fanfiction (as did Lils and I).  So here we go...





	1. Chapter 1

 

Harry woke up screaming- _again._ He was panting heavily, having just watched Sirius fall through the veil for what felt like the thousandth time in the nightmares that haunted his sleep.  He looked at his own godchild, ensconced safely in his arms, the silencing charms he expertly crafted in an intangible layer between himself and Teddy keeping him from waking the infant.  As he tried to calm his erratic breathing, he looked down at the little boy, who used his metamorphmagus abilities to look like a tiny version of Harry himself, with thick raven hair forming some sort of haphazard half-curls and macchiato skin and big green eyes that were currently closed as he sucked on his thumb in slumber.

 _If Sirius hadn’t died, you wouldn’t have Teddy,_ he reminded himself, trying to reduce at least marginally the terrible grief that sank its claws into his throbbing heart every time he thought about that night, which easily tied with maybe two others for the worst day of his life.   _If Sirius hadn’t died, Remus wouldn’t have tried to rebound with Tonks, and you wouldn’t have Teddy._ Maybe it was cruel of him, calling the marriage of someone who he’d loved so much a mere rebound from the relationship that Moony had had with his godfather, but it was true.  Tonks hadn’t been expecting anything; she’d only been offering comfort sex one late night after far too much firewhiskey on each of their ends, and Remus had taken it, because why not have it where you find it when the love of your life is dead?  But then there’d been a baby, and a marriage because of it. And now they were both dead, and that was just the cold hard truth.

And Teddy would have been happy with his parents- they may not have been in love, but they were good friends, and Theodore Lupin would have grown up in a house full of laughter and pranks and would have maybe even had siblings that were adopted war orphans instead of _being_ an adopted war orphan himself.  But because of the war (because of _you,_ Harry’s treacherous mind reminded him), instead of growing up like that, he was being raised by a seventeen-year-old soldier with PTSD and no idea what he wanted out of life in a house that too many had suffered in before.

But Harry had been determined that _he_ should be the one to do it, the one to raise his godson.  Remus had trusted him with this, and although Andromeda had offered, Harry had refused.  She had lost her husband and her daughter and was tired and grieving, and he knew that asking her to raise her grandson would have been too much to put on her.  She deserved to be the one to feed him cookies and spoil him rotten, not the one responsible for all the difficult, heartbreaking parts of raising a child. Harry wasn’t going to let her be the one who had to listen to Teddy ask, one day when he was old enough to realise that something was missing, why he didn’t have a mummy.  That was _his_ burden to bare now.

So instead of going back to Hogwarts for an eighth year like the rest of his friends, Harry had decided to do an independent study for his NEWTS so he could be the godfather for Teddy that Sirius had been robbed of the chance to be for him.  Even though, as the heir to both the Potter and Black estates, he could have easily afforded to buy a new house without really feeling any financial strain at all, he decided to redo Grimmauld Place. He felt he owed it to his godfather to turn it into a place where happy memories could be made, where Harry could give his own godson everything that Sirius had ever wanted to give him.  Ron and Hermione respected his decision; the war had been hard on all of them, and they understood that this was what he had to do, because they’d _all_ done things that they probably would have put off until later if the war hadn’t happened.  He and Hermione had eloped over the summer, spontaneously in Australia with only ‘Mione’s parents (memories newly restored) as witnesses.  Mrs. Weasley had been rather upset, making them redo the ceremony in the backyard of The Burrow the moment they’d returned.

 _“Merlin,”_ Fred had said, “I don’t think I’ve heard her scream _that_ much since I barely missed that killing curse.”

Dean and Seamus had taken a similar course, as had Lavender and Parvati and Hannah and Susan- there were quite a few newly-married couples among the returning eighth years.  The only thing that had kept Ginny and Luna from doing the same was Mrs. Weasley’s stern protests that they’d only been going out for three months, and besides, wasn’t it kind of rude to get married so soon after she and Harry had broken up?

“I don’t mind, Mrs. Weasley, really,” Harry had told her, chuckling for the first time in days.  “When you know, you just know.”

Nevertheless, Molly had managed to convince her daughter to wait until she could sew her and her bride-to-be a proper set of dress robes, and Ginny had reluctantly agreed.

“It’s alright dear,” Luna had said softly.  “We’ve _always_ been married in the eyes of the snorklacks, and isn’t that really all that matters?”

 _Merlin,_ Harry loved Luna, and he had to admit that she was really a far better match for Ginny than he had been.  She was wonderful, and he loved her deeply, but theirs would always be more of the devotion shared between two best friends, and he was more than alright with that.  Besides, even if she _had_ still had feelings for him, he couldn’t have given her what she needed with all of his focus on Teddy.

 _Teddy-_ Harry’s heart rate gradually slowed as he reminisced about happier memories and watched the baby’s chest rise and fall.  Six months old, and only four of those spent with him, and already Harry loved him more than he realised it was possible to ever love anything.  Had anyone known the true depths of the horrifying events that formed his own childhood- the beatings, the starvation, the cruel words and crueler hands and lack of anything remotely resembling love that he received from the Dursleys- and not just the vastly watered-down version he’d fed all his loved ones… well, they might have been reluctant to let him raise a child, might have worried that the violence he’d experienced in his own infancy might have created an unstable parent figure that could have perpetuated the cycle of abuse.  But nothing could be further from the truth- even at only seventeen and traumatised by a lifetime of loss and suffering, Harry was the gentlest parent figure that Teddy could have asked for.

It was healing and therapeutic for the young man to pour into this helpless vessel every ounce of the love and affection that he himself had never received, and every day that the little boy spent with his godfather was full of soft words and softer touches and never for even a second a raised voice or an ounce of irritation, not even when the little boy screamed and cried for absolutely no reason, or when Harry had gotten little to no sleep for days on end because of a demanding infant combined with the nightmares and his demons and thoughts of _Oh God, you’ve killed them, they’redeadandit’sall_ **_yourfault._ ** Everything that Teddy ate was healthy and delicious and homemade, even though Harry hated cooking because it reminded him of Aunt Petunia holding his hands to the burners whenever even the slightest thing didn’t meet her standards.  The days were spent with him playing with the boy and reading to him and following to the letter all the instructions in the parenting books for everything that could possibly be done to stimulate his healthy physical and mental development.  He would study while Teddy was napping or playing quietly in his playpen, and every night he would rock him to sleep in front of the fire while singing in a voice that was surprisingly melodic.

Teddy had a nursery, one that Harry had painstakingly painted by hand and not with magic and had decorated with everything a baby could possibly want, but the first night he’d gone to put him into it, the infant had clung to his chest with tiny hands, so he’d taken him to his own bed and wrapped him in his arms and the crib hadn’t been used since.  In fact, not since the day he’d picked him up from Andromeda had his godson left his sight. His friends at Hogwarts were always inviting him to come have a pint in the village on the weekends, and Fred and George tried to convince him to come to every big promotional event at the store, but he’d always declined politely. He was just getting settled down, he’d say.  Maybe next time, he’d say. He refused any offers for help as well; he’d _chosen_ this and it wasn’t their burden to bare.  On his better days when the dark circles under his eyes weren’t quite so bad, he’d floo his friends in the eighth year common room, Teddy in his lap as they talked quietly.  And he managed to convince them that he was okay, managed to convince _himself_ that he was okay, because as long as Teddy was loved and taken care of, then what did it matter how _he_ was doing?  He belonged to Teddy now; Teddy got everything he had and Teddy was more than he deserved, and he believed that with all of his tired, broken heart.

__________

Harry tried to do as many things muggle with Teddy as he could; he took him to the healers as often as required for tracking his magical development or if he needed a certain potion, of course, but for the little everyday things like checkups he preferred to go to a pediatrician.  He liked seeing Teddy’s weight on a physical scale instead of a number from a wand that he couldn’t be certain he could trust, liked hearing Teddy’s heartbeat through the stethoscope when the doctor held it up to his ears. Besides, muggles vaccinated for a lot of things that wizarding communities didn’t bother with, and Harry knew better than anyone that wizards were _not_ infallible.

“Well,” Dr. Smithson announced on a Tuesday when Teddy was six and a half months old, snapping her bag shut at the end of the appointment, “Teddy is as healthy and happy as a baby can be; you’re doing a fine job, Mr. Potter.   _You,_ on the other hand, look like you’ve seen better days.”

“I’m fine,” Harry replied with a tired smile, stifling a yawn.  “You know how it is, raising a baby.”

“Of course,” the doctor agreed kindly, pulling her gloves off.  “Just don’t forget to make time for yourself once in a while- get out and enjoy the fresh air and all that.  You’re barely eighteen, after all.”

Harry just forced himself to smile again.  “Don’t worry ma’am; I get out plenty. In fact, Teddy and I are just now heading to the grocery store, aren’t we big guy?” he cooed, kissing his godson’s nose.  “I’ll see you in six weeks, Dr. Smithson.”

“That’s not what I meant,” she sighed, shaking her head after he’d left.  She’d never seen a teenage parent take such good care of a child- normally, there was the opposite problem where they didn’t give them _enough_ focused attention- and in her eyes Harry was still just a child himself.  She wondered what kind of circumstances he’d grown up in, that he’d been so willing to take on responsibility for a baby that wasn’t even his, that he was so much more mature than everyone else his age.  She honestly worried far more for _him_ than for her actual patient; he was far too thin, and sometimes she caught flashes of a haunted look in his beautiful green eyes.  There was such a thing as giving _too_ much of oneself to other people, and she was afraid that that was exactly what he was doing.

It didn’t really occur to Harry that people outside of his closest friends would worry about him, so he had put the doctor out of his mind as he wrapped Teddy’s little scarf around his neck and put his mittens on his hands and his hat on his head.  He’d forgotten his own cap today, but he had his long, loose-hanging coat, so he wasn’t terribly bothered. The Dursleys used to put him out in the cold for a few hours without anything remotely warm enough as punishment for his perceived wrongdoings, so a coat was more than enough for him as long as his little godson was warm enough.  He bounced the little boy on his hip as he entered the Tesco’s, buckling him carefully into the cot.

“Oh, what a cutie!” exclaimed an old woman comparing two peaches with a critical eye, putting the fruits down and approaching the two of them.  “Is this your son?” Kids were having children younger and younger these days, but it was so nice to see one that took care of his…

“Godson, actually,” Harry said graciously, grinning slightly.  “Just a lucky accident, really, that we look so similar.”

“Oh, how precious,” she declared, tickling Teddy’s chin as the baby giggled.  “So you’re watching him for the day, then?”

“No, longer than that…” he sighed, the look in his eyes bittersweet.  “His parents were murdered, so I’m raising him now.”

“Oh, how sad,” she cried.  “Poor thing, barely more than a child yourself.  Your parents couldn’t help you?”

“They’re dead also,” Harry informed her, wanting desperately to end the conversation but too polite to walk away from a kindly old woman who only meant well.

“Oh, what a sad world we live in,” she clucked, putting a hand on his arm maternally.

“I suppose so,” he agreed, ready to be just about anywhere else as he looked for something, _anything_ else to talk about.  “Oh look- these zucchini are nice…”

______

As soon as Teddy had learned to crawl, Harry had baby-proofed the house, and anything remotely dangerous was far out of reach, so it was quite safe to put him in the playpen after lunch while he read from his charms textbook out loud, knowing how good it was for children to be read to.

“While the mending charm itself is a fifth year spell, it is much harder to perform nonverbally than other spells, although the reason for this is as yet unknown…” he narrated, before looking up to see how his godson was responding to his voice.  When he did, all the blood drained from his face.

Teddy had somehow managed to wiggle open the door to his playpen, and although he was absolutely fine-smiling, even- all Harry’s mind could focus on was that he had crawled into _the cupboard under the stairs._ Harry wasn’t sure how or why the door was open, and it really shouldn’t have been a big deal anyway; there was nothing dangerous under there- nothing at all, in fact- but all Harry could focus on was that that was _his_ godson, in _the cupboard under the fucking stairs._ It didn’t matter that he had crawled in there by choice, had decided to explore it out of mere curiosity; Harry couldn’t stand to see him in there, and _oh,_ how easy it would have been for someone to close the door and lock him in, or for the wind to shut it on him, and then he’d be trapped and screaming and crying and _what if Harry wasn’t there to comfort him, what if no one was there for Teddy like no one had been there for Harry?!_

 _No,_ Harry decided, the memory of countless dark and lonely nights in the cramped space pounding in his brain, _Teddy simply couldn’t be in there._ He scooped the boy up almost frantically, pulling his wand out of the sleeve of his oversized jumper and banishing it, banishing it forever.  The baby looked up at him in confusion.

“Dada?” he gurgled, a lock of his hair turning pink as he studied Harry’s face.  It was his first word, coming at a time when Harry was already emotionally overwrought, and he burst into tears as he held Teddy to his chest.  He tried to hold them back, because it was clear they were distressing the little boy, but all Harry could think was that Teddy’s _real_ Dada was dead because of him.  Part of him was happy, of course, happy that Teddy had thought of him this way, but the larger part of him was terrified.  Could he _be_ the father that Teddy deserved?  In his limited experience, fathers were people who loved their children enough to die for them, and although Harry would _absolutely_ die for Teddy, would lay down his life in a heartbeat, he wanted to stay and be around for him.  And hearing the child’s first words, hearing out of his innocent mouth in the clearest of terms what Teddy really thought of him, the horrible thought struck Harry for the first time that he had no more control than Remus did of whether he could always be there for this child of his that he loved so very much.

“Dada?” Teddy tried again, touching his cheek with gentle fingers, and Harry sniffed and put on a smile.  He couldn’t think about that now, not when he needed to start preparing dinner.

“Dada’s fine, sweetheart,” he soothed, and despite everything, the feeling the word gave him when he said it back to Teddy was one that filled his heart with warmth and tasted better even than treacle on his tongue.  “Dada will do everything he can to be there for you.” He kissed Teddy’s forehead and put him in his highchair as he waved his wrist to chop the potatoes, not bothering to reach for his wand. “Dada loves you _very_ much.”

“Dada dada dada!” Teddy cheered, clapping his little hands, and Harry laughed as he wiped his eyes on the sleeve of his jumper.  It didn’t matter that he was giving up the last years of his youth, the ones that he could have used to relax and be carefree after the war; _this_ was more important.  There was nothing more important than this.


	2. Chapter 2

“Shhh, it’s alright little luv,” Harry murmured into Teddy’s ear, bouncing the screaming eight-month-old gently in his arms.  “I know you don’t feel good; but it’ll be better soon.” Teddy had come down with a cold, which Dr. Smithson said was totally normal at this age.  Still, Harry hadn’t slept in three days; when Teddy, tired from screaming through the night, was taking his naps, Harry spent his time in the room he’d turned into a basic potions lab down the hall from theirs brewing a weaker version of Pepper-Up that was safe to give to infants.  He’d started feeling a light pounding in his own head, but he’d downed a couple of the potions and was determined to just muscle through it. He had to take care of Teddy.

“Dada,” the little metamorphmagus sniffled miserably, and Harry pet his head softly as he sang to him, ignoring the tickle in his throat.

“I know, snidget,” he agreed sympathetically between verses of _Eleanor Rigby,_ which had been playing on the radio that morning.  “You’re having a rough time of it, huh?”

“Ga,” the baby agreed, babbling nonsensically.  

“It _is_ ugh,” Harry nodded, kissing his head.  “But it’ll be better soon- see, Dada’s cooking some chicken soup right now; I promise it’ll help.”

“Mo, dada.”

“Yes, little man, you can have more,” Harry promised.  “You can have as much as you want.” _You’ll never be hungry here,_ he added in his mind.   _Not like I was._ He would see to it with everything he had.

Teddy had begun to feel better after dinner, helped by Harry’s tireless care, and by bedtime he had reached that stage of an illness where children weren’t quite so miserable as to lie quietly, but certainly cranky enough to kick up one hell of a tantrum.

“You don’t wanna read the hippogriff book?” he asked his godson, as Teddy chucked the book at his face.

“No!” Teddy cried, as Harry carefully took hold of his hand.

“Be gentle with dada, please,” he told the baby softly, tenderly stroking the boy’s tiny fists along his cheek to demonstrate.

“Dada no!” he whinged, screaming to be put down.

“Come on now, little man- it’s bedtime, remember?” Harry prompted him.  “So how about we pick a book you _do_ want to read, hmm?”

“NO BO! NO!” The infant yelled, squirming around.  Harry gripped him tightly enough to keep him from slipping out of his arms but softly enough not to hurt him.

“Where’d my happy little Teddy Bear go?” he chided mildly, bringing his godson in so that his head rested against his shoulder and rubbing his back softly.  “I don’t like to see my Teddy sad.”

“No,” Teddy whimpered, still struggling half-heartedly.

“I know, sweet boy,” Harry soothed.  “You’re still not feeling that great, but I think you should be back to normal soon if we can just get you to sleep, hmm?”

“No see,” Teddy grumbled, and Harry chuckled just a bit at his stubborn pout, rubbing their noses together.

“I know, Teddy Bear- sometimes I don’t wanna sleep either,” he told the little one, the frequent nightmares coming to the forefront of his mind.  “But it really _does_ help.  Maybe I make you a nice bottle to help?”

“Ba,” the child capitulated, almost reluctantly, and Harry laughed.

“Of course, my luv,” he whispered, rubbing a thumb along Teddy’s cheek as he expertly grabbed the formula and put the bottle together with one hand, adding a few drops of cool chamomile tea to help him drift off.  Chubby arms reached for it eagerly as Harry held him close.

“Good job,” he praised quietly as Teddy’s eyes drooped and he sat down in the rocking chair.  “Now, let’s hope Dada can get some sleep too.”

Unfortunately, it was not to be.  He tried unsuccessfully to study for a while in the rocking chair while Teddy slept before going up to bed, where had maybe two hours of fitful dozing while his demons taunted him in the form of incoherent but vividly unpleasant dreams before Teddy woke up, having pooped right through his nighttime diaper.  Harry had to wash the sheets and clean them both before putting them back into bed and then waking to switch the sheets from the washer to the dryer so they wouldn’t mildew. He couldn’t sleep then either, as he’d heard other parents in their Mummy and Me playgroup (he was the only young parent there, let alone the only _male_ one) talking about some article or other they’d read about dryers overheating and starting fires, so he had Teddy resting on his shoulder as he watched it anxiously, wand out and ready to extinguish any flames that might start up.  He was so tired that it didn’t occur to him to simply push off the laundering of the dirty sheets until morning, his brain muzzy and the headache that had begun that afternoon gradually growing stronger. He clutched his godson even closer, feeling far too cold in their comfortable, heated house.

He finally got them back up to bed (Teddy still fast asleep on his shoulder) around three am, and he was so exhausted that he was blessed with two dreamless hours before a cheerful babbling woke him up at an _ungodly_ hour of the morning.

“There’s no way I could convince you to go back to sleep, is there?” he groaned, but Teddy, feeling back to his normal, energetic self, merely put a pudgy hand on each side of his face.

“Dada!  Ga do do day!” he chirruped, and Harry, his limbs aching and the pounding behind his eyes easily a migraine by now, pulled himself up with an immense amount of effort.

“Yes, I suppose we _do_ have things to do today,” he rasped, his throat feeling as shitty as the rest of him.  “C’mon, my little quaffle; let’s go make breakfast.”

Teddy picked up bites of scrambled eggs in his slobbery fists and shoved them in to face the wrath of his six teeth while Harry, deciding that he didn’t think he could stomach breakfast or his usual pot of black coffee, made himself a strong mug of tea with honey and lemon, sighing as the warmth soothed his sore throat just a bit.  He knew his immune system was shit after living with the Dursleys and being regularly deprived of food and forced to do more work than any child should, but he hadn’t expected a cold from his eight-month-old to be quite _this_ hard on his body.

“Da goo?” Teddy called, cocking his head quizzically, his fringe turning pink like it always did when he was thinking.

“Dada’s fine, buddy,” Harry promised.  “I think I’ve just caught a bit of whatever you have, but that won’t stop us, now will it?”

“No!” Teddy declared, smacking his hands down on the high chair tray and scattering eggs everywhere.  Harry just gave him a tired smile as he waved his wand to clean the mess up.

“Maybe we should get a dog,” he mused, noticing not for the first time how much food ended up on the floor instead of the baby’s mouth.  “Much nicer than a vacuum cleaner.”

“Moo!” Teddy howled.

“No, sweetheart,” Harry corrected.  “Dogs say ‘woof.’ _Cows_ say moo.”

“Moo!” Teddy insisted again, pointing at a picture of Sirius on the side table.

“You know, he’d probably get a kick out of that,” Harry sighed with a sad smile.  “His boyfriend’s son refusing to learn what sound he makes.” _What sound he_ **_made,_ ** the mean little voice in his head amended.

“Muh, muh, _muh,”_ Teddy crooned, and Harry rolled his eyes at him playfully, despite the fact that it made light shows of pain dance across the lids.

“Is this your way of telling me you want a cat?” he questioned his godson.  “Because not all of them are as much fun as Professor McGonagall, I promise you; most of them wouldn’t let you snuggle them quite so hard.”  Teddy merely burped and threw his sippy cup to the floor.

“You really like this game, huh?” Harry remarked conversationally, picking it up.  “You know, seekers are supposed to _catch_ things, but if you’d really rather be a beater I guess I can make my peace with that.”

“Da!” Teddy declared, giving Harry a wet, open-mouthed kiss on the cheek as his dada picked him up out of the high chair.

_____________

The next few days only saw Harry’s illness grow worse as Teddy chose the wrong time to explore a nocturnal lifestyle, but still Harry didn’t get angry or let his exhaustion show when he interacted with the little boy.  It had gotten to the point where he swayed dizzily when he stood, however, so they’d pretty much been living in the kitchen and parlour, Harry not willing to risk carrying Teddy up the stairs when he was afraid he himself might fall, so they slept (or _didn’t,_ rather…) on the rocking chair or the couch.

He didn’t want to call Ron and Hermione and bother them while they were in school, and Andromeda was away with Narcissa in France for the week as they made an effort to rebuild their relationship.  He didn’t have a babysitter yet, as he hadn’t found anyone he trusted and took Teddy with him everywhere anyway, so he was managing alone. Teddy wasn’t any the worse for it though, as he was still fed and played with and given all the love he could ever need or want, but Harry wondered how much longer it would take him to get over whatever bug he’d caught before he’d have to go look for a doctor.  He didn’t like going to the doctor- the only one he’d ever seen for himself was Pomfrey, but he wasn’t going to go to her _now,_ not when he was too weak to even maintain the glamours hiding the scars from Vernon’s belt.  Even if he had a muggle doctor, he vetoed the idea for the exact same reason. Contrary to whatever Professor Snape might tell you (Harry still questioned, sometimes, why his conscience had been so insistent that he save the greasy old git in the Shrieking Shack that night), Harry was actually quite the competent brewer, but his stock of medical potions was rapidly dwindling and he was too sick to make more.

“Dada’s in quite the bind,” he croaked to Teddy as he rocked him at four am one early morning about a week after he got sick, his voice barely there.  “But maybe I can get some sleep before I have to think about it…” Teddy himself was drifting off, thumb in his mouth and snoring very slightly, an angelic expression on his small, sleepy face, so Harry thought maybe, just _maybe,_ he’d be able to catch a few hours…

He was feeling so rubbish that his misery alone kept him awake for too long a time, and he was _finally_ nodding off when the floo rang and Draco Malfoy stepped through, startling Teddy awake as he gazed at his cousin with heavy eyes.

 _“Merlin,_ Potter, you look like shit,” the blonde remarked to Harry, who _just_ managed to work up the energy to glare at him- they might have gotten on better after the war, but that courtesy didn’t extend so far as the man coming into his house at six thirty in the morning and insulting him.

“Why’re you here?” he demanded hoarsely, wincing as he realised how awful he actually sounded.

“I just came to check on my cousin before classes started, and Granger and Weasley were concerned that you hadn’t called in over a week,” Draco informed him, snaking a hand out to feel his forehead.

“Fuck, you’re _burning up!”_ he declared, eyes going wide, and before Harry could even admonish him for cursing in front of the baby, he was trying to take Teddy from his lap.

“No!” he cried, panicking, and Malfoy pushed him back against the chair.

 _“Relax,_ Potter- I’m just holding him for a minute so I can help you through the floo- you’re going to Mungo’s.”

“No,” Harry shook his head stubbornly despite the pain it caused him.  “Gotta stay with Teddy.”

Draco sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose.  “Harry,” he reasoned, using the other man’s name for the first time, “you cannot _possibly_ think that I’m going to leave you in this condition.  Theodore will be well taken care of, I promise, but _you’re_ the one I’m worried about.”

Harry was still protesting, but luckily for Draco, he was so weak that it was easy to manhandle him through the floo anyway as he held Teddy with his free arm.  The boy looked at him curiously, a single lock of his hair (which was just as atrocious as Potter’s, he noted with a sliver of derision) going blonde like his own.

“Now is not the time for your silly experiments,” he told the child.  “We have to get your idiot godfather some medical attention.”

“Don’t talk to him like that,” Harry ordered fiercely- or, as fiercely as he could through fever-blurred eyes.  “Soft voice.”

“Ah yes, because yours doesn’t sound like you’ve been gargling with gravel _at all,”_ he drawled, rolling his eyes.   _Honestly,_ the fact that he felt himself so drawn to this man made him question his mental state far more often than was healthy.

“S’not what I meant,” Harry rasped, before breaking down into a coughing fit.  Draco forced himself to maintain a neutral expression as they reached the waiting room of the hospital.  Luckily, it was mostly empty except for a blind old witch and the night shift nurses that were still milling around, grabbing coffee or chatting before heading home.  When the receptionist saw Harry, the healers were immediately called for, and it wasn’t until they’d gotten closer that they realised that this clearly very-ill patient they had just gotten was _actually_ the saviour of the wizarding world.

They immediately put him on a stretcher and took him to a private room, putting a needle in his arm and a number of potions in the bag connected to the IV.

“He’s severely dehydrated,” the main healer- a man of average height in lime-green robes- told them.  “Fever of nearly forty degrees as well. Any idea how this happened?”

Harry was already unconscious, so Draco chewed his lip as he held baby Teddy, who was starting to whimper as he looked anxiously at his godfather.

“I know that Teddy came down with a cold maybe ten days ago…” he trailed off, bouncing the baby to try to calm him down.

The healer examined the infant, running a few spells.  “Well, he’s as healthy as they come at this age, so it seems that Mr. Potter must have run himself into the ground taking care of him, thereby weakening his immune system,” he explained briskly.  Then he gasped as he pulled of Harry’s large Beatles t-shirt to change him into a hospital gown.

“Did you know about this?” he asked Draco, motioning to the various random scars on Harry’s chest and the mess of razed lines on his back.

“No idea,” Draco shook his head.  “His skin was always smooth before…”

“Last spell he cast was a glamour charm…” the healer muttered, waving his wand as statistics spilled out.  “A prolonged one, actually… amazing that he could hold this up and still have the power leftover for all the other impressive things he’s done…”  Under his breath, he let out a low whistle.

“It would make sense, as nobody in the quidditch locker rooms ever saw anything but perfect skin, and these look at least ten years old…” Draco began, examining the marks in more detail.

“So we’re looking at childhood abuse then,” the healer sighed, a weary look in his eyes.  “Muggle, by the looks of it- wizards don’t often lay a hand on their children, or if they do, it’s usually a wand…”

“Could this be how he got so ill so quickly?” Draco asked, and the healer nodded.

“Seems likely- my deep scans are showing chronic childhood malnutrition.  We’ll have to keep him for a couple weeks, it looks like, and his health isn’t in the sort of state to be pushing himself as much as he clearly has been… is there anyone who could help him with the baby?”

“We’ll find someone,” Draco declared, nodding surely.  “If you say he shouldn’t be doing this alone, we’ll make sure he isn’t anymore.”

“Good.  Now, would you perhaps like to call his other friends and notify them of the situation?”  Draco was a bit taken aback by the word _other-_ he realised, of course, that Potter and he were… acquaintances, perhaps, but he didn’t think anyone would go so far as to call them friends…

Then again, here he was, dragging Harry to the hospital, holding his baby, witnessing some of his darkest and most distressing secrets carved into his back, so he supposed that it might come across that way…

He groaned as he went to call Granger and the Weasel- when had things all gotten so _complicated?_

_________

Ron and Hermione Granger-Weasley were quite distressed when they got the flu call saying Harry was in Mungo’s, and even more so once they were completely updated.  They were sitting by his bedside anxiously when Harry suddenly shot up, the heart monitor racing as, his glasses not currently on his face, he groped about in a blind panic.

“Teddy?!” he cried through his raw throat.  “Where’s Teddy?!”

“Shhh Harry, relax; he’s right here,” Hermione pacified, showing him the sleeping child in her arms, who had cried for Dada until he’d exhausted himself and gone down for a nap.

“Is he okay?!- What happened?!” Harry demanded as a number of nurses came rushing in.

“Calm down please, Mr. Potter,” one of them said.  “You’re very ill.”

“I’m fine- how’s my godson?” he pressed stubbornly, and Ron sighed as he reached out to squeeze Harry’s hand.

“He’s fine mate- unlike you,” the redhead scolded gently.  “But some stuff has come up…”

Harry suddenly remembered that the glamours had dropped and looked up at them, the blood draining from his face and the question evident.  Hermione was fighting back tears.

“Oh Harry,” she hiccoughed.  “We had no idea the Dursleys were so bad…”

“I didn’t want you to know,” he sighed, sinking back into the pillows.  “I knew I had to go back, and it would only make you worry…” his face suddenly became very anxious.  “Wait!” he cried, wincing, “you’re not going to let them take Teddy, are you?! Because I swear, I would _never-”_

“Of course we know that,” Ron broke in, running a hand across his sweaty forehead.  “Besides, the healer said he was in perfect health and well-cared for, so there’s no reason for anyone to take him from us no matter what happened to you with those fu- those _people,_ ” he corrected at Harry’s stern glance and significant head tilt towards the baby.

“Wait, _us?”_ Harry’s exhausted brain suddenly realised what his best friend had said.

“Yes, _us,”_ Hermione told him sternly.  “The healers said that you can’t go on like this, not with your health.  So Ron and I are going to move in and help you.”

“No!” Harry cried, “you can’t!”  At their hurt looks, he sighed and cast his gaze down.  “I just mean that I’m not going to let you guys give up your last year at Hogwarts for me,” he amended.  

“Well, we _want_ to, because that’s what family does for each other,” Ron announced in a tone that brokered no arguments, although that didn’t stop Harry from trying.  Draco, who had been shuffling awkwardly in a corner, suddenly looked up.

“Wait,” he broke in, “why don’t _I_ move in and help Po- Harry?”

 _“You,_ Malfoy?” Ron snorted incredulously.  “Why would we do that?”

“Think about it, Weasel,” Malfoy ordered, unhurt by the other man’s skepticism.  “Teddy’s _my_ cousin, you and your precious wife could finish out the year, and I wouldn’t be missing much anyway- half the school still hates me, after all.”

They had to admit that it _was_ true; despite Draco’s contributions to the war efforts, most people outside of the eighth years still distrusted him.

“But we already decided to do this,” Ron continued stubbornly, unwilling to back down on a promise.

“What do _you_ think, Harry?”  Hermione interrupted her husband’s impending argument with their classmate to ask for his opinion, figuring it might save them a lot of trouble.

“I… if someone _has_ to help me, it would make sense for it to be Mal- _Draco,”_ he agreed.  “I mean, Hermione- you’ve been looking forward to your NEWTS for _years,_ and Ron- you _love_ Hogwarts.  Draco has a point about Teddy being his cousin, and if he’s willing to put in the effort to make it work, so am I.  It has nothing to do with not _wanting_ to live with you guys, because it’d be great, but I’m just not going to let you give up something you love so much whether you’re willing to or not,” Harry decided.

“Alright then,” Ron sighed.  “I guess you’re shacking up with Malfoy…”


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Did we make an excuse to do the bedsharing trope? Why yes, yes we did.

Harry hated being stuck in the hospital; he was hooked up to all sorts of machines, there were nurses and healers hovering over him all the time and giving him sympathetic, pitying looks, and worst of all, he wasn’t allowed to see Teddy outside of two hours a day during visiting hours for the ICU (and he had quite a few protests about how even if hospitalization were necessary, he certainly didn’t need to be _there,_ but they all went ignored).  And when they made Ron and Hermione and Draco and Teddy leave at the end, the little boy always cried his eyes out, holding his hands out to Harry and crying “Dada, Dada!”

“Oh, please bring him back!” Harry begged the nurses again and again, his heart being ripped apart as he watched his sweet child’s tearstained face getting further and further towards the door.

“I’m sorry Mr. Potter,” they would tell him each time.  “You need your rest.”

Harry was ready to sign himself out AMA (against medical advice) by week three of his stay, but his friends sternly refused to let him.

“If you do that, we’ll take Teddy and hide him until you’re feeling better; you know we will,” Hermione chastised him, hands on her hips, and Harry sank forlornly back into the bed, holding his arms out weakly for his godson.

“Fine,” he promised, voice dejected.  “I’ll stay; just… please let me hold him?  Just for a minute?”

“Oh, alright…” his best friends agreed reluctantly, as Ron placed Teddy carefully into Harry’s arms.  Throughout the whole debacle, the little boy had kept Harry’s appearance, and he snuggled into his godfather’s chest with a happy little coo as Dada’s arms tightened around him.

“Dada,” he purred, and Harry kissed his little head.

“Yes,” he murmured.  “Dada’s here. Dada’s so sorry he hasn’t been around much lately.  It’s not my idea; I promise.”

“Dada,” Teddy’s soft little voice said again, his gentle, tiny hands trying to let Harry know he wasn’t mad at him.

It made Harry feel even worse when they had to take him away.

______

It was a month before they let him go, somewhat reluctantly and only after eliciting a promise from Harry that he would continue to take it easy and get plenty of fluids.  Harry, only half-paying attention, hurriedly agreed to all the parameters, as, sitting in a wheelchair at the healers’ insistence, he held Teddy in his arms and rocked him gently back and forth, whispering sweet assurances into his small ears.

Once they’d gotten through the floo, Harry felt Teddy immediately ripped out of his arms again, and he looked indignantly at Malfoy.

“Hey!” he fumed, trying to take him back.

“You need to sit on the couch and _rest,”_ Malfoy ordered him, a hand on his chest.  “You can have the baby back once you’re on the couch.”

“I need to make dinner,” Harry argued.

“I can make dinner,” Draco insisted.  Harry looked at him dubiously.

“Do you even know _how_ to cook?” he asked, cocking an eyebrow at him.

“Are you seriously asking me that, Potter?” Draco huffed indignantly.  “I was top of our class in potions.”

“Yeah, but can you _cook?”_ Harry reiterated.

Draco rolled his eyes.  “I think I’ll manage,” he insisted haughtily.  “After all, they can’t be much different.”

“Really?” Harry shot back, unimpressed.  “Because unlike potions, food is supposed to taste _good,_ and I’m pretty sure that you’ve never actually touched a plain old kitchen pot.”

“I’ve watched the elves doing it _plenty,”_ Malfoy continued on undeterred.  “Here, take Theodore and get ready for the meal of your life, Potter.”

“His name’s Teddy!” Harry called back as he looked at his godson, huffing a sigh.

“We’ll just be waiting with the fire extinguisher, huh buddy?” he asked the baby, who put his thumb in his mouth and buried his face in Harry’s chest, just glad that he was back with him.

“Dada!” he agreed merrily, slobbering on the front of Harry’s t-shirt.

Two hours later, they were eating takeaway as Harry performed another spell to get rid of the burnt smell in the kitchen and Draco crankily rubbed a burnt strand of his hair with his long, pale, fingers.

“This doesn’t mean anything, Potter,” he insisted as he brought another bite of curry to his mouth.

“Really?” Harry asked, not even trying to stop the sardonic smile from quirking at his lips.  “Because I’m pretty sure it means that you can’t cook.”

“Bugger off and take your meds,” the blonde demanded irritably.  “I’ll give Theodore his bath.”

“Can you…” Harry began, only to be interrupted by Draco’s miffed “Yes!”

He could not, and Harry ended up banishing water from all over the bathroom floor and re-washing a wet, soapy Teddy before teaching Draco how to use the shower so he could wash the apple-scented baby shampoo off of him.

_____

“You have awful taste in pyjamas, Potter,” Malfoy sniffed as his grey eyes took in Harry’s old Beatles shirt and plaid boxers, both stained with baby food even after countless washes (which had given them a worn, soft appearance).

“Whatever you say, _your Majesty,”_ Harry snorted, casting one green eye in Draco’s direction as he entered the nursery wearing a white silk set.  “Those are going to stain quite quickly, you know,” he added as he buttoned Teddy’s footie pyjamas, which were blue with moving green frogs on Lilypads.

“I believe I can change a diaper without making a mess of things,” the other declared pompously, arranging the sheets in the crib.  “Now, do you normally sing to him first or…”

“Oh, he doesn’t sleep in here,” Harry informed him.  “He’s in my bed with me.”

“Well, that’s not going to do, because you simply cannot be the one doing all the night shifts,” Draco declared.  “The healer says your health is too delicate. He’ll have to sleep in the nursery so we can take turns coming in to tend him.”

“My health isn’t _delicate,”_ Harry snapped, “and he’s not sleeping all alone in here- he’s had enough things switched up on him in the past few weeks.”

“Weren’t you even _listening,_ Potter?” Draco argued, running a hand through his hair in frustration.  “The healer’s said you need a full eight hours, or you’re at good risk of getting sick again.”

“Whatever,” Harry grit out, not divulging the fact that he most certainly had _not_ been paying attention to a word the healers had said when they’d signed him out.  “But he’s staying in my bed no matter _what_ the stupid healers think.”

“Fine,” Draco declared.  “Then I am too.”

“Malfoy, you’re not sleeping in my bed with me,” Harry hissed, and Draco looked down his nose at him (chronic malnutrition meant that Harry stood just about five-one, and Draco at 5’9 had quite a few inches on him.  Harry _hated_ it).

“What?” the taller man sneered.  “Afraid of catching the gay from the Hogwarts pouf?”

Harry just stared at him for a full minute, a strange look on his face.  “Malfoy, what does that even have to do with _anything?”_ he asked, throwing up the arm that wasn’t holding Teddy in exasperation.  “I didn’t even know you were gay, and it’s not like I’d give a fork anyway (he tried not to curse in front of Teddy).  I’m bisexual. I don’t want to sleep with you because you’re _you,_ not because you’re gay.”   _And because of the nightmares,_ his mind added.

“Well,” Draco sneered, trying to ignore the pang of hurt that went through him at Potter’s statement.  “You’ll just _have_ to deal with it then, because it’s either that or let the baby sleep in his crib.”

They stared each other down for a good while before Harry finally groaned and tossed his head back in pure frustration.  “Fine,” he grit, seeing that his new roommate wasn’t about to give up. “But just so you know, I don’t like this.”

“Yes, you’ve made that point _abundantly_ clear,” Malfoy reminded him.  “But whatever- I’m tired, and you need your sleep even more, so I suppose you’ll just have to be an adult and make your peace with the situation.”

Harry sighed deeply, wondering how it was that one night with Malfoy as his roommate so easily pushed all their carefully-constructed cordiality out the window.  But he really _was_ tired, tireder than he should be only a few hours after leaving the hospital, so he took Teddy to their bedroom, allowing Draco to follow at his will.

“I must admit I find myself surprised,” Draco drawled as he looked around the room, pale blue with beige carpeting and a brown duvet, simple landscape paintings on the walls.  “I thought _Harry Potter’s_ room would be ostentatiously Gryffindor.”

“Red isn’t a relaxing colour for a baby,” Harry replied matter-of-factly.  “Besides, I don’t want Teddy growing up and feeling pressured to be in a certain house when they’re all equally good.”

“Even Slytherin?” Draco challenged, waiting for some snide remark from the other.  But Harry only gave him an unreadable look for a moment before pulling back the blankets.

“Yes,” he agreed tonelessly.  “Even Slytherin.”

“Oh,” Draco stammered, taken off guard.  “Well then…”

“Goodnight Malfoy,” Harry sighed, laying his head against the pillows and casting the silencing charm around himself wandlessly so that it wouldn’t catch his awareness.  

“Right.”  Draco collected himself with a small shake of the head.  “Goodnight, Potter.”  
__________

Teddy was actually sleeping pretty well that night, so Draco couldn’t say quite what woke him in the dark silence except for the vague feeling that something was off.  Dimly, his brain (and something else) noticed that he was far closer to Potter than when he had gone to bed, curled up against the side opposite the one that snuggled Theodore.  It was eventually this knowledge that led him towards his conclusion, as Potter’s arm was moving under him, his face clenched in panic and mouth open in a silent scream. Oh- he was having a nightmare.

“Potter,” he whispered urgently, shaking the darker man.  “Potter, wake up.”

“Mione, no!” Harry rasped as he came awake, the silencing charms breaking in his confusion at being shaken by another adult.  “Don’t hurt her, Bellatrix; I’ll kill you!” His hand was around the collar of Draco’s nightshirt before he could do anything about it, the other arm still protectively clutching his godson.

“Potter, relax,” Draco soothed, a little frantically since it was his own throat on the line.  “You were just having a nightmare.”

“Oh,” Harry mumbled, thankfully it was impossible to see his vivid blush in the darkness of the bedroom as he let go of Malfoy’s shirt collar.  “Sorry about that.”

“It’s no problem Potter; we all have them,” Draco admitted in a whisper, smoothing out the fabric.  “I’ll go get you a dreamless sleep.”

“No!” Harry yelped quietly, before going completely still as Teddy stirred.  Once he’d put his thumb in his mouth and gone back to sleep, he looked back up at the other man.

“No dreamless sleep,” he muttered fiercely, his eyes glowing with determination even in the dim light.  “I won’t hear Teddy if he needs me, and besides, that stuff can be addictive.”

“The reason I’m here is to _help_ you,” Draco reminded him, “and besides, I know what I’m doing, and I won’t give you any more than is safe.  I won’t even tell you where I keep it, if that makes you feel any better. But Potter, they really should have kept you in Mungo’s longer and only let you go because of the extenuating circumstances, so if you don’t want to end up back there, you _need_ to listen to me.”

“I…” Harry began, running his free hand through his hair and messing it up even more, but Draco continued to glare at him sternly, and finally he capitulated.

“Fine,” he agreed.  “But no more than once a week.  If you _have_ to give me anything more than that, you can use something milder.”

“Fair enough,” Draco capitulated reluctantly, knowing that that was all he was going to get from the man.  “I’ll go get it.”

When he came back with a mug of chamomile tea infused with the potion, Harry was sitting up and staring at him.

“The bottles are in the cubby by the bed- two scoops of formula for every four ounces, and if you change him, only use the organic diaper cream, the one I’ve labelled with _caligula-_ I grew it myself and it’s the only one that’s gentle enough not to dry his skin out.  And-”

“I’ve _got it,_ Potter,” Draco assured, practically shoving the mug in his mouth as he got back in bed.  “Now just _rest,_ okay?  I know what I’m doing, or I wouldn’t have offered to do this.  I care about Theodore too.”

“I know, I just…” Harry couldn’t quite explain the constant worry for the little boy that tore at his heart, the _need_ to give Teddy everything he never had, to make his life as perfect as possible in this big scary world.  After the chaos of the war and the madness that was now as teenagers forced to be soldiers tried to pick up all the pieces of their lives, sometimes he swore that caring for the little boy was the only thing keeping him sane.  Even though he knew that Draco was a good man, one who had put a lot of effort into doing what good he could while trapped on the wrong side of a war, sometimes it was hard to relinquish control.

“Just relax, Harry,” Draco murmured in a tone he wouldn’t have used if Potter had been fully conscious.  “You’ve worried enough for the night.” _And your whole life,_ he thought to himself, but he would take just the night if it meant that the other man’s posture would loosen up and his eyes would flutter softly closed like they were doing now.

“It’s going to be alright,” he promised the sleeping figure, looking at him with his guard down in a way that he so _wished_ he could in the daylight hours.  “You don’t know this and probably never will, but by Merlin, I’d do anything for you.  I just wish that I could be good enough to deserve the chance.”


End file.
